New Divide
by bamftastik
Summary: Written to the Linkin Park song of the same name... Zevran and Taliesin discover who it was that actually betrayed them. Later, the Warden comes to Zevran for advice.


"Zevran?"

It began in his stomach, a weightless plunge, a strange pulse throbbing behind his eyes as the letter slipped from his fingers.

Taliesin bent to scoop up the discarded pages but already Zevran was turning away, away from them both, his eyes rising above the trees. Why he had chosen this spot, some filthy hole beside the road, he could not say. No. He had wanted this, had wanted her to know that she deserved no better.

"Ashur? But that would mean…"

He did not turn round, keeping his gaze on the darkening clouds. "It was he who betrayed us."

Taliesin stood. The man had never been skilled at disguising his footsteps. "Zev…"

He pinched shut his eyes. The gruffness of that voice was too familiar, an echo of old words. _It must be done. It needs to be done. She earned this._

And what had they earned? What did _they_ deserve? Slowly, he turned. Taliesin stood across the small clearing but the distance seemed to stretch, a flash from the blackened sky throwing their work into sharp relief. Once he might have laughed for the timing of it, another twist of fate's cruelty. But the rains had begun, pelting light against his cheeks as he looked to the woman lying facedown between them.

"So you think Rinna found out that he was following us? You think she—?"

"Killed him." Zevran nodded, letting his chin sink to his chest. "Of this I have no doubt."

"It's what we would have done."

"It is what we _did_ do, my friend. But in this case… we were wrong."

Taliesin shook his head. "Why didn't she tell us? She should have told us."

"So the fault was hers then, hm?"

Something in his tone, in his unblinking gaze, made Taliesin take a step back. But the world seemed to spin now, the trees twisting and blurring as the sky ripped wide. Another flash and the clearing seemed to heave, Rinna lying still between them, forever between them.

Taliesin closed the gap, taking him roughly by the shoulders. "So we were wrong. It doesn't change anything."

"It changes everything."

"Because we made a mistake? Are you really that proud?"

Zevran did laugh now, the chuckle little more than a whisper. "You think this is pride?" He looked to the hands tightening round his arms, the hands that had done as he commanded, always as he commanded. And yet the blood was pooling round both of their boots, mixing with the rain, the earth sinking beneath their feet.

"Zev?" Again Taliesin shook him, trying to catch his eye.

"The truth."

"What?"

"We return to Antiva City, admit what we have done."

"What?"

The grip tightened painfully, but Zevran did not flinch, did not blink for the rain stinging his eyes. For his part, Taliesin held him still, never breaking that gaze. But there was distance there, born of an act shared, dividing them beyond repair.

Taliesin shook his head, gesturing to the rain, to the rapidly filling puddles of the forest floor. "No one has to know, Zev. We'll…" Looking to Rinna, the words died on his tongue. "…and then it will wash away." Those hands, gentle now, trailed along Zevran's cheeks, tilting back his head to brush the hair from his eyes. Back he swept it, lingering, as Zevran opened his mouth to the rain.

Ash. It tasted of ash.

Yet that rhythm was insistent, working the knots from his hair, smoothing free the dust, the blood. "Zev." The word was hoarse, a demand and a promise. Still his hands were tangled, pulling Zevran to him and covering his mouth with his.

A distraction, then. Zevran chuckled against the other man's beard.

"We weren't wrong, Zev." Taliesin pulled away to stare down at him, but his eyes revealed the lie. There was no pleading now, no convincing. It was too late for that. The once-charming smirk was hollow, the laughter forced as he shook the water from his own hair, spraying them both like a wet dog.

Zevran tsked, moving to the other man's buckles, helping him shrug his leathers up and over his head. The water trailed there in snaking rivulets, following the lines of him, smoothing the hair of his chest. Lightly Zevran traced them, pressing now instead of teasing, nails biting as the downpour shrouded them both.

He shrugged off his own leathers with ease, taking Taliesin's hands in his, guiding them. Again, guiding them. His breath caught but he pulled the larger man to him, pushing those rough fingers toward his belt.

"Zev..."

He let his eyes fall closed, focusing on that whisper, the warmth of it against his neck, the echo of it beneath his groan.

_She earned this. It's what she deserves._

Zevran's nails dug hard against Taliesin's back, bringing a shuddering grunt of pain. Deeper he scratched, drawing that mouth back to his own as if to silence it but the words lingered still.

He no longer felt the rain.

* * *

"Zevran?"

Another clearing, another time. The trees were different here, the wet beneath their feet never truly fading, even after the rains had passed. He had heard the footsteps approaching but still he kept his eyes to the leaves.

"Zev… I think I've made a mistake."

Ah. He should have expected this. But he had thought – had hoped – that the Warden would choose another. Alistair perhaps, or Wynne. Yet it seemed that his silence was taken for invitation to speak.

"I know what you told me. That some people just deserve to die."

"I said nothing of the sort."

"What? You did. When we were—"

Turning round, he held up a hand. "A poor choice of words, my friend. That is all."

"Oh." Those eyes were wide even in the darkness, his lips pressed into a thin line beneath the shadow of his beard. Again Zevran found himself startled by those features – never showing it, of course – but their travels had not been kind to the young lord. Tall and dark and proud he was but each day saw a new roughness, each foe felled a familiar emptiness to those eyes. Or perhaps all humans merely looked alike.

"The boy… Connor… he-he was innocent. I could have done something, _should_ have done something."

"You did what needed to be done." His tongue felt heavy, his lips dry. The words were not his own, he realized. "No one needs to know that it could have been otherwise."

"I'll know."

"Yes. You will." Again he turned away, following the gentle slope of the trees to the tiny steam that ran beyond the camp. It was narrow, little more than a creek, and he stepped over it with ease. He need not look behind him to see that the Warden had followed.

"I know it's not the same." With a sigh, he sank to his knees on the opposite bank. "But how do you ever—?"

"You do not, my friend."

He raised his head.

Something in that expression stirred memory anew, but it was not his old companion that Zevran saw there now. Wondering, stricken, but hardening before his eyes – no; this reflection was unmistakable. Kneeling across from him, Zevran dipped his hands into the shallow water. "You never do."

He opened his mouth to speak but Zevran leaned close, bringing his cupped hands to the Warden's forehead. There he let the water fall, flattening the waves of his hair, running cross his eyes. They fell closed, the sigh shuddering as the Warden sank against him.

"Hush, _amor_." Again he filled his hands and again he let the water fall. His fingers swept aside that hair, following the scattered droplets cross his cheeks and through his beard. The man trembled. Zevran did not.

* * *

He woke beside the stream, his eyes lighting on the gentle bubbling of the current, widening in surprise at the warmth that stirred against his back. One of them must have crossed, though he could not say when it had happened nor which bank they now lie upon. He smiled at the memory.

Rolling onto his back, Zevran looked to the canopy. The night was clear.


End file.
